“Sure,” I said. “But also, I want to see the water. Put that on the list too.”
Molly got up and found a box of stationery and a nubby pencil. Underneath the words FROM THE DESK OF MARY MORAN and a spray of lilacs, Molly wrote:
List of good ideas to do sooner or later, but hopefully sooner
1. Pay for the lamps.
2. Go to the fair.
3. Learn to roller-skate.
4. Visit the water.
“Then what?” she asked.
“I want to go to Egypt,” I said. “To see the pyramids! Don’t you?”
“Well, yes,” she said, “that would be marvelous. But we probably can’t do that tomorrow.”
“Probably not,” I admitted. “But I didn’t think I’d get to see 1937 either, so let’s write everything down. Who knows what crazy thing might happen!”
“In that case,” she said, “I’d like to fly.”
“How are you planning to manage that?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, but three days ago, it seemed impossible I’d ever see the backyard again, so if you get Egypt, I get flying. Make sense?”
“Sure.” I laughed. “Why not? We’re dreaming, after all. In which case, I want to be rich someday, super rich. Write that one down.”
Molly scribbled, then looked up. “I want to get married and have a family. And I want to do good things too. I want to help people. But I don’t know how just yet. Maybe I’ll be a nurse.” She scribbled something down. “Also, I want to meet Fred Astaire.”
“Write down about the pizza,” I said. “That’s P-I-Z-Z-A.”
“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said.
“And I want to be in a movie,” I said. “And I want to stop biting my nails.”
“And I want,” said Molly, “to save someone’s life.…”
“Wow,” I said, sitting up. “That’s a big one.”
“Yes, it is,” said Molly, looking down at her list. “Perhaps that’s enough for now. Perhaps it’s time to go to bed. We can think of more things to add tomorrow, can’t we? We can just keep adding to the list forever.”
That night, as we lay in bed with Friend curled between us, Molly drifted into her drugged sleep. I watched her and listened to the kitten purr. When at last I reached down to tug the sleeping mask from under the mattress, I found I was sad. Now I didn’t want to leave again. I wanted to do the list of things with Molly. Funny, when I thought I was stuck, I felt desperate to go home; but now that I’d figured out my return, I wished I could stay. I thought about The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe kids, those Pevensies. Had they felt this way, when they became queens and kings in Narnia? Had they missed their mom and dad? I didn’t remember the books talking about that.
Of course I would leave. I had a life of my own to live, and Mom. Still, the idea of trading in this Molly for that old lady Molly—ugh.
I looked over at Molly and wished there was some way to say goodbye. Then I had a thought. I could say goodbye. I could leave something, some shred of me, for Molly to find once I was gone. I climbed out of bed and looked around for the box of stationery. I didn’t see it, but my eyes fell on her copy of The Secret Garden. So I took up Molly’s fountain pen and turned to the last page, to the very back of the book. There I wrote:
Dear Molly,
By the time you read this, I’ll be gone. I hope you’ll understand that I needed to go home to my mom.
I know you’ll be sad, but I want you to know that I’ll miss you. A lot. I’ve never had a friend like you before.
Give Friend a kiss for me, and say goodbye to Nora. And someday, I promise, you’ll see me again. Someday I’ll come back to the hotel, and you’ll look up, and I’ll be there. It might be a long time, but I swear it! I do.
LYLAS! (that means Love Ya Like A Sister)
Your friend,
Annie
PS: Have fun at the fair!
Feeling better, I got back into bed, pulled the covers up, and reached for the sleeping mask. I fingered the jet beads and the smooth fabric, then noticed something. The elastic wasn’t stretched out anymore, and the beads weren’t coming loose. The mask looked like new. How had that happened? Was the mask repairing itself? Was there more magic at work? What did the transformation mean?
I was calm as I pulled it over my head, ready. “I’ll see you soon, Mom,” I whispered into the quiet room as I settled the mask on my eyes.
Then everything went dark …
But not dark enough. Not quite.
There was no static, no beat, no strange silence.
I was still in the past. Molly was breathing heavily beside me and Friend was snuffling in his sleep. I hadn’t disappeared. I lay in the bed, still wearing the mask, and I couldn’t see anything and I couldn’t think what to do next. Did this mean I couldn’t go home? I didn’t understand what was going on. It felt very wrong.
I swallowed hard. Now what?
It was 1937. It was still 1937.
How would I get home? Would I ever get home?
I ripped off the mask and looked around the room but found nothing to help me. Beside me, Molly stirred, shifting onto her side. Still there, breathing over my thoughts. I tried to ignore her. It wasn’t time to think about Molly. It was time to think about me, about Mom.
I took a deep breath and tried again to backtrack, to remember all the details. What was I still missing?
Maybe I had to actually sleep in the mask. Maybe that was it! Mom would say it does no good to freak out. “When one thing doesn’t work,” she always said, “chill out and try something else.”
It was the only thing I could think to do. I could try again. I could keep trying. I could sleep. In and out, deep and slow, in and out, push and pull, calming me, settling me. Slower and slower. Deeper and deeper. Each heavy breath like a wave lapping at the shore. In and out, in and out. Each breath calm and regular.
Sleep would come. It had to.
A banging woke me. A thumping, knocking sound. Then a voice. “Hello?” the voice called. “Hello? Miss Moran?”
Miss Moran?
I rolled over, tangled in sheets and dreams. The fog seeped back in, and I drifted backward, into sleep.
“Miss Moran! Molly! Are you decent?”
I opened my eyes again, sat up, and tugged off the sleeping mask. Instantly I was swamped with a wave of dizziness. The room swirled and I fell back. “Molly?” I mouthed as the ceiling swam. I knew that name, even in my fog. “Molly.”
“Shhh!” Beside me, a girl was awake, a tiny kitten curled in her hair.
I stared at her. She had a finger to her lips.
Inside my head everything was still blurry and shifting. But I knew her. Molly? I closed my eyes and memories washed over me. My face streaming with rain, a cramped dark place. But who was at the door now? What came next?
Molly sat up, and the kitten rolled away from her and stretched. “Dr. Irwin!” she choked.
I whispered, “Who? What should I—”
She pointed below the bed. “There,” she whispered. She shoved the kitten at me, and I took it. I stared at her, baffled. I still didn’t know anything! So much I couldn’t remember. What was happening now?
Molly called toward the door, “Yes, Dr. Irwin, just—one second, please. Let me—ahem, finish with these buttons!” Molly gestured wildly. She pointed beneath the bed again. “Go, Annie,” she said softly, and I went.
As Molly reached for a dressing gown and pulled it on, I half fell over the side, onto the floor with a thump. Still foggy, now bruised.
“One more minute,” called Molly, eyeing me on the floor. “I’m nearly ready.”
I scrambled beneath the bed, the kitten tucked beneath my arm.
“Come in!” Molly shouted.
I heard the door open and saw the bottom of it swing wide. Two brown shoes approached. I felt the creaking of wood and springs above me as the doctor—not a small man, I guessed—sat down with a groan.
I squeezed my eyes an
d crossed my fingers. There was no question about what would happen to me if the bed collapsed. The kitten curled up against my neck and began to purr. It sounded like a motorcycle in the distance. I could feel the rumble in my jawbone. I only hoped nobody could hear it on the bed above. My nose tickled. I knew that I should not sneeze.
“It took you so long to answer the door,” boomed the voice above me, startling me from my thoughts. “I began to think that maybe you weren’t in. Har. Har.” The doctor had one of those unfunny joking voices grown-ups sometimes use.
“Oh,” said Molly with a nervous giggle. “I’m always here. I just sleep very deeply. Because of … my medicine. Where else would I be?”
The doctor ignored her question. “Now, say ahhhh!”
Molly opened her mouth. “Ahhhh!”
While Molly breathed and coughed and answered questions, I lay beneath the massive bed and tried to piece things together. I backtracked through the day before and the day before that. The laundry chute, the ballroom, and the liver. Nora’s smile.
I pushed past that, to an old lady in a bed. I felt a dazzle of memory there, a spark, and then a flame caught—and I remembered! I was Annie Jaffin, and my mother was Ruby Jaffin, and she was back there, in the memory, in—the future? While I was huddled in the dusty underneath of the past.
I lay among the dust bunnies, pulling the memory out of the murk, like I was dragging a fish slowly from a river. I tried to keep the line steady. I didn’t want to lose what I’d caught. In a rush, my life came tumbling back to me—Cosby Show Susie Ice Capades science fair project. Home.
How had I lost all of that? How had I forgotten? And how could I keep it from slipping again? The mask hadn’t worked. Maybe nothing would. I closed my eyes and buried my face in the warm purring side of the tiny kitten.
I heard a shuffling sound and looked over at the door, where I could see Nora’s black chunky heels and the hem of her dark skirt.
“Well, you’re still on the mend!” the doctor said cheerily at last. “Though I must say, you are a little more constricted than last time. I suppose it could be dust, or smoke from outside.”
“I’ll close the window,” offered Molly.
“Yes, do. And please don’t overexert yourself. I know it can be hard for a girl your age to sit still, but don’t let your improving health fool you. This is still serious.”
“I understand,” said Molly in a docile tone.
“You must take care of yourself as you begin to feel better,” the doctor said. “You could have an attack at any time.” Then he called out, as if to someone standing in the next room, “Looks good, James! She’s doing fine.”
James? I saw there was a new pair of shoes in the doorway beside Nora’s: men’s shoes, black and shiny.
Molly, in a mixture of startled confusion and childish delight, burst out, “Papa!” just as the kitten scratched me good on the neck. My eyes watered as I grabbed his face to keep him still. I had to bite my lip to keep from yelping, but even so, a breath escaped too loudly.
There was silence above me.
I froze, still holding the kitten’s jaws. His tail twitched. His claws dug into my hand.
Molly spoke again, her tone eager. “Papa? I’m glad to see you. It’s been so long since—”
A stern voice interrupted her. “Yes. Hello there, Mary. Things are busy downstairs. How are you today?”
“I’m better, Papa!” Molly’s voice was painfully cheery.
“I’m pleased to hear that,” said her father. “I’ll be sure to tell your mother when I speak to her.” The shiny black shoes stayed at the door. Then, after a beat of silence, they turned and walked away. The stern voice called out, “I must get back to work now. Be well, Mary.”
The delight was gone when Molly said, “Oh! All right, Papa. See you soon.…”
“Now you get better right away, you hear me?” said the doctor, snapping something shut—a bag, I supposed—with a final click. “That’s an order. Har har. And don’t eat too much pudding. I know how you children are, with your pudding.”
Molly didn’t say anything.
I heard the man groan once more as he stood, and the mattress gave a sigh of relief. I waited as the feet shuffled out; I waited to hear the door close in the sitting room. Even after that, I waited, with Friend squirming in my arms.
“Feh!” I said, spitting out dust. Once I was standing, I wiped my face and hair clean. “I think I need a bath.” I dropped Friend on the bed.
“I was worried,” said Molly quietly. “If Papa had seen—”
“You were lucky, miss,” said Nora, stepping back into the room.
Molly whispered grimly, “Lucky. Yes, I’m so very lucky. What with all my pudding and everything.”
Nora patted Molly’s shoulder. “Come now, girls, get yourselves dressed. Breakfast is ready. Pancakes!”
Friend let out a mew, as though he knew what “pancakes” meant, and Nora turned. “I’ve a few sardines for you too, you scampy scrap.”
“So,” I said, reaching for syrup, “that was your dad.”
Molly ignored me and began to spoon up grapefruit in tiny bites.
“Shall we look at our list?” I asked, chewing. “Pick something to do today?”
Molly nodded.
“Or should we stay in? The doctor did say you need to take it easy.”
Molly frowned. “He always says that.” Then she shouted out, “Oh, Nora!”
“Yes, miss?” Nora was heading for the door with last night’s dishes.
“How much do you suppose something like a pretty glass lamp shade might cost? At the Woolworth’s store. Just out of curiosity.”
“Hmm. I’d wager about six dollars, if I had to guess,” she called over her shoulder. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” said Molly.
“No reason, eh?” Nora shot her a funny look as she closed the door behind her.
I did the math. There had to have been at least six lamp shades. In a world where a Hershey bar cost a penny, there was no way Molly had forty dollars lying around.
But after breakfast was over, Molly reached into a box on her bookshelf and came out with a thick roll of bills.
“Whoa! Where did you get that?” I exclaimed. Even in 1987, it would have been a lot of money for a kid to have. I’d never had forty dollars, I didn’t think.
Molly shrugged. “We get pocket money, Ginny and Maggie and me. I’ve never had a chance to spend mine. But Papa’s very fair, so he pays me each Sunday, just like the others. I’ve been saving for a long time. Years.” She shoved the money deep into her pocket.
Outside, the rain was gone, but it had brought cool air. Below me trees swayed. The wind was strong as I leaned into the railing. In the street an engine sputtered to life. A man in a hat was getting into a car.
“Hey,” I said, elbowing Molly, “isn’t that your dad again?”
Molly nodded.
For a minute we were both quiet. Then Molly said, “Annie?”
“Uh-huh?” I looked at her.
“You really want to go home, don’t you? To your mother?”
“Sure,” I said. “Of course. And I will. It’ll work out. It has to.”
“But you never mention your father at all,” Molly added. “Why is that?”
“Because I don’t have a father,” I said. “It’s only me and Mom.”
“I’m sorry,” said Molly right away. “I didn’t know.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “Really, no big deal. He left us. I never knew him.”
“Maybe that’s just as well,” said Molly, staring out at the street.
“Well, yeah, but only because my mom is super cool,” I said.
Molly looked puzzled. “I don’t understand.”
“Hmm. It’s kinda like—” I tried to think of a way to explain. “Life might be better if you had four hands, right?”
“What?” Molly was smiling now. “No! You’d look very queer.”
“Well, yea
h, but you could hold a book and eat spaghetti at the same time! You could do things twice as fast. The thing is, two hands are plenty, and that’s what you’re used to. So you’ve never thought to want four.”
“I … suppose.”
“My mom is like that. She’s two hands. She’s plenty. And she was, long before I knew I was supposed to have a dad. So I never thought to want one.”
“Plenty sounds nice,” said Molly. “What sort of person is she, your mom?”
I didn’t know what to say. Mom was just Mom.
“Annie?”
“Mom’s just—she’s my person, I guess,” I said. My voice felt shaky. I didn’t like it. “She makes terrible jokes and always runs late. But she’s—there. You know? She heats up soup when I’m sick. She reads to me, even though I can read to myself. She yells, and I yell back, and that’s okay. She isn’t perfect, but she’s mine. Does that make sense?”
Molly was looking at me intently. Her eyes were focused, constant. “Would you like to know something?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said.
Molly took a deep breath. “I would jump from this fire escape right now to feel that way about someone.”
For a minute we stared at each other. It was weird. I didn’t know how to respond. At last I said, “Is that true? Really?”
Molly shrugged. “Probably not, no. But it feels true.”
“Well, that sucks,” I said. “But jeez, stop being such a drama queen! You scared me.” I punched her lightly in the arm.
Molly smiled faintly. “I don’t know what a drama queen is,” she said. “But I’ll try not to be one. All right?”
“Anyway,” I said, “of course your mother loves you too. And you love her. Right?”
Molly leaned over the railing. She looked a little sheepish. “Yes, I do,” she said. “Certainly I do. But she isn’t here, is she?”
“So you miss her! And you’re mad. Like I said, my mom’s not perfect either. Once she forgot to pick me up from ballet class and I had to walk home two miles in the dark! I wanted to kill her. Totally normal.”
“Totally normal?”
“Totally.”
Seven Stories Up Page 8
